


Hold Him Gently In Your Hands

by deathwailart



Series: Eimhir Lavellan [8]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, F/M, Femdom, Pegging, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 18:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5551151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deathwailart/pseuds/deathwailart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She cuts him off quickly, rising up on her toes with a fierce look in her eyes. "Yes. Yes you do. We've been over all of this: I love you, I want you, you deserve all of this."</i>
</p>
<p>Or: Eimhir and Blackwall try something new, and he takes direction well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Him Gently In Your Hands

She tried it on twice before she ever used it. Once over her clothes to figure out the straps and buckles without distraction – it had been easy enough to figure out though the elf-blooded Antivan girl in the shop had certainly given a thorough guide to how it fitted together when she'd purchased it – and then again when they were definitely going to try it. The second time she'd been naked. Door locked. In front of her mirror. It had still felt odd then, straps around her thighs and waist even with the leather being soft as butter so as not to chafe, the base of the dildo against her clit very different to what she was used to.  
  
They'd discussed it at length because she likes to try new things and Blackwall is always happy enough to help and be part of that. He takes direction well and there's something about it that appeals to her, some nebulous thing that Bull would have a name for but she hasn't quite worked out how to ask yet and she'd rather do this the way she and Blackwall always have, by figuring it out, by just trying and perhaps failing but living and learning from it.   
  
She looks at it again, sitting in the harness as she waits for him to join her, the door from the main hall locked but the one to her quarters still open and Scaea conveniently shuttled off to the kennels because she really can't do this with any sort of audience, not even a slumbering hound.  
  
"Eimhir?" He calls and she just about manages not to jump, hurrying to set everything on the nightstand because that was part of the agreement, that everything would be there and ready, and she scurries over to shut the curtains because she likes this room best when it's dark.  
  
"Come up, lock it behind you!" She calls as she moves about the room barefoot, butterflies in her stomach. "Oh and can you stoke the fire while I light the candles?"  
  
"Of course," he answers and she leans down when she's crossing the room to shut the last of the curtains before he can rise, catching his chin and stroking her fingers through his beard, his mouth opening easily under hers the way it always does. "Bath now or…?"  
  
"After." They'll need it then; even if he's relaxed, they'll still need a soak before bed and with both doors locked; someone can break them down if she's actually needed because she plans to sleep late tomorrow, Blackwall at her side, lazy in a way that's often denied them.  
  
The last of the candles lit, everything for heating the bath ready and the room mostly dark and she stretches up, kisses him slow and deep, walking him back towards the bed, fingers finding the catches of his clothes as he lets her hair down, running his hands through it. When he trails his fingers along her ears up to the tips and back down she breaks the kiss, shivering, nipping at his throat instead and he laughs, more a rumble that she feels against her lips than any sound.  
  
"My lady," he murmurs, soft and fond, and for a moment her heart clenches because they almost never had this, he might have swung on a noose with her none the wiser. "I don't-"  
  
She cuts him off quickly, rising up on her toes with a fierce look in her eyes. "Yes. Yes you do. We've been over all of this: I love you, I want you, you deserve all of this." He doesn't look away this time because he has in the past since they got things back on track and sorted through it all, he just smiles, small, like he can't believe it but wants to and that's something.  
  
They undress one another, leaving their clothes where they fall, his hands cupping her breasts and thumbing her nipples, his cock hardening against her hip as she kisses him again, her hands cupping his backside and squeezing with intent. It only takes a small shove to have him sitting as she stands, a rare instance where she's taller than him and when she looks over to the table by the bed, his gaze follows and she tilts her head in question. He nods, sets his hands on her hips and smiles.  
  
"I want this, if you're sure."  
  
"I think that's supposed to be my line," she teases, bending to kiss him again because one day, when this is all done, she wants to do this for hours, tired of stolen moments and having to fight for real time like this. It'd be simple enough to ask him to kneel, to put his mouth on her as her fingers tangle in his hair but this might not work if she's all loose and languid the way she is unless he's been teasing her or when they've been apart or without opportunity for too long. She turns away long enough to pick up the harness and she needs her full attention to get the straps right with her hands shaking, adjusting them as needed and the pressure of the fake cock on her clit is—  
  
Good. Even better, not enough alone but enough to make her glad she chose this harness because a strap between her legs would have been too distracting. She wants to make a joke but his hand covers hers, strokes up the length of the cock and back down to press firmly at the base and, absurdly she thinks, she wants him on his knees to suck it, even though she wouldn't feel anything. Something to think about later though because she presses on his shoulder to get him to lie back, Blackwall flushed red down to his chest, cock hard against his belly and he sucks in a breath when she gets up on the bed and runs one finger from base to tip.  
  
"How do you want me?" He asks and his voice is low and rough, the faintest hint of grey around blown pupils.  
  
"Hands and knees, I don't know if this will work any other way," she replies and he moves as told but allows her to tug him into place, leaning up and over to press between his shoulders, trailing her fingers down the curve of his back before she tugs his hips sharply and he gasps. "Did you like that?"  
  
He doesn't answer, not in words but he spreads his legs and she grins even though he can't see her. She slaps him on the arse, not hard but not soft either but it sounds loud in the room and he moans very quietly.  
  
"When I ask a question, I'd like an answer," she tells him, soothing away the red marks.  
  
"Yes," he groans and she smiles again as she reaches for the oil, pouring it into her hands to warm it because she wants him to enjoy all of this when he asked for it so nicely.  
  
Her touch is gentle at first, a finger at his hole, spreading the oil around, more a moment for her if she's honest just to breathe and to think that yes, she's going to do this, she's going to fuck him because he asked, because he wants this. She kisses the small of his back as she presses a finger in, feels him clench, determined to be as slow and gentle as he is with her even if her fingers are smaller and slender than his own. There's maybe more oil than she needs when she comes back with two but he spreads his legs and she moves her fingers slowly and carefully, opening him up and when she gets in three she can find his prostate and he arches and swears. So she does it again, and again, and again, fucks him with her fingers until he's breathless and he does this to her, makes her come with just his fingers even when she asks for his mouth or his cock, and maybe she should have realised that this might be a thing to do anyway, but they've got time after all.   
  
"Stop teasing," he complains but he groans at the loss when she pulls her fingers free and wipes her hand on the towel by the end of the bed before she uncaps the oil again, slicking up the cock. He's watching her and now it doesn't feel so strange, it almost feels like part of her as she makes a show of it.   
  
"Next time," she manages, meeting his gaze as she swallows around a suddenly dry throat, "I'm going to make you get me wet for you. With your hands and mouth. Like you do for me. Would you like that?"  
  
"Eimhir, _please_ ," he begs and he always does that so nicely that she'll take it as an answer and won't make him wait longer than she already has.  
  
"I'm going to fuck you," she tells him, one hand at his hip to steady herself, the other at the base of the dildo and he nods, moans out a desperate yes. She needs a moment to breathe before she can press in, slow and steady, listening to him breathe, waiting for any sign of discomfort but he's still and silent, no tension in his spine or any resistance and she gasps quietly when her thighs press against his. "Do you need a moment?" She asks very quietly, holding herself as still as she can and he nods.  
  
She strokes his back, trying to ignore how her clit throbs, the heat between her legs, one hand still on his hip and the other stroking his side. He relaxes, shoulders dropping further than she pushed them and she pulls out a little and he presses back to meet her without her even saying a word, a quiet breath shuddering out of him. The rhythm is different from this end because it's been a long time since she did this with a woman, back when she was barely twenty and then she was flat on her back and only the one to hold and guide, not like this. Right now, all she has to go on in his him, watching and listening so intently, changing the rhythm and angle judging on the sounds he makes, how he moves back and both his hands are beneath his head without her telling him to keep them there, his cock still hard without being touched.   
  
At last she finds the right angle because he almost sobs, the sound making her clench around nothing and she thrusts harder, faster, hands on his hips even if her holding him in place is laughable unless she's bound him to the bed but he holds himself as still as he can when she digs her nails in just enough to feel it.  
  
"Could you come from this?" She asks him breathlessly because she's realising that she could, that she might, but this isn't about her, it's about him, making him feel good and safe and loved. "I bet you could, with my cock in you, couldn't you?"  
  
"Yes," he moans, turning his head to draw in another breath, gleaming with sweat like the rest of him, like her. "I'm close."  
  
"I know," she slows and leans forward, rests her weight against him just about managing to kiss his shoulder, stroking the damp hair at the nape of his neck, watching him arch into it. "Do you want my hand?"  
  
"Please."  
  
His cock is hot and heavy, wet with pre-come at the tip. He sucks in a breath when she wraps her hand around him and strokes slowly, thumb under the head, thrusting into her hand and then back to meet her when she moves again. "Come for me," she tells him because he's so good, because he's almost trembling, making these noises that sound like they've been pulled out of him. Usually no matter what he makes her come first at least once and she's determined to watch, but next time now that she's done this and knows how to do it she's going to have him on his back, she's going to watch him because his bottom lip is red from biting down. "Come on, let go, come for me," she urges and twists her wrist, short sharp thrusts and then he's coming with a long, low moan. She strokes him through it, careful little thrusts until he tries to move away from her hand and she wipes it roughly on the towel before she pulls out, shimmying out of the harness and shoving the whole lot on the floor for later.  
  
She still needs to come but she lies next to him, pulling him close, kissing his forehead and combing her fingers through his hair as she murmurs nonsense and praise, that she's here, that he was so good for her, waiting until his breathing is more steady so she can clean up and shimmy out of the harness. She'll deal with that later once they've had a bath. It takes him longer to recover than he does normally, but he's smiling, leaning up to kiss her slow and deep and he pulls her down on top of him, so her thighs are spread over one of his.  
  
It only takes a few shaking thrusts of her hips and she's coming, her head pressed to his chest, voice high and desperate before she ends up next to him, thighs trembling and her heart racing.  
  
"You were so good," she tells him when she gets her breath back, moving so her forehead rests against his, his eyes not quite able to focus again yet from the way he blinks at her. "Elgar'nan, you looked beautiful like that, the sounds—" And she kisses him because that's easier than putting into words and he'll scoff as soon as he gets the breath and the wits for it, he'll try to make light of it and push the words away even if it's true.   
  
"Thank you," he says finally sounding the way he does after battle, after they've killed a dragon and they're barely standing, hoarse from shouting to one another. "I needed that, needed it so badly and you-" He tries to find the words but shakes his head, kissing her again so soft and sweetly it's nearly chaste and she gathers him close again.  
  
"Get some sleep; I'll sort out the bath when you find your legs again."  
  
And she does, an hour later after she's tucked him in and tidied up everything she used, snuffing out the candles and stoking the fire, peeking out to confirm that it's late, full dark with the stars high in the sky, the moon behind the clouds and the mountains seeming to glow in their light.   
  
If it bothers him that she slips in the bath behind him then he doesn't say a word, leaning back as much as he can as she washes his hair and digs her fingers and thumbs into his neck and shoulders, massaging out the last knots of tension until his smile comes easily. He washes her hair in return, in the spirit of fairness, both of them drying by the fire.  
  
In the morning she has to get up before him, to go pick up the inevitable stacks of letters and to check in on Scaea (still fast asleep in a pile of other similarly exhausted mabari), and to fetch breakfast. He wakes when she returns, clad in her leggings and his shirt belted tight about her waist.   
  
She's missing the leggings and the belt before they even touch the food.


End file.
